


Why Can't I Follow?

by Deannie



Series: Dear Love [5]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Death, Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-05-25
Updated: 1997-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair tells Jim about his life. Part five of the 'Dear Love' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Can't I Follow?

DISCLAIMER: You know the drill: Pet Fly and UPN own these sexy boys. If *I* owned them, I'd charge you all admission, but, of course, I don't (sigh). More's the pity! RATING: PG 

NOTES: Okay! Part five of the "Dear Love" series. Please read "Just Because I'm Not There," "If I Had You Here," "While You're Gone," and "How Could You Leave?" before delving into this one. 

THANKS: to senad! A great group of people! 

## Why Can't I Follow?

by Dean Warner  


Jim, 

I just want to make one thing clear, okay? You are the most manipulative, underhanded, lying, cheating, *selfish* bastard I have ever met. 

And I will still love you desperately for all of my days. 

I can't believe you. Who knew such a romantic stirred beneath that cool exterior? I want you to know what a difference those letters made to me, so I thought I'd return the favor with a letter of my own. 

I haven't been able to write you until now... But I looked over your letters last night--I do it once a week, at least--and I decided it was time... 

I'd like to tell you that, five months now since your death, I'm happy, well-adjusted, and currently involved with a hopelessly charming man. I'd like to tell you, but I can't. 

Well, maybe the charming man bit. You're going to kill me... Brian Ryf has been hanging around. Hey, man! You said somebody beautiful, right? 

Okay, so... My life, post-Jim. 

It almost wasn't. 

That first night? God, Jim, all I wanted was to curl into a ball and die. I even thought to try to find your service revolver, but, funny that, Simon seemed to be taking care of it for you. 

He stayed here that night--and two nights after that, too. He said he was afraid I'd do something stupid, and that you would never have forgiven him if he let that happen. So don't worry, Love, it didn't. How I survived that first week, I'll never know. But somehow, I managed. 

The next two weeks are still kind of a blur. I know I ate occasionally, but I never really felt like it. The guys at the station took good care of me, and I guess you have them to thank for the fact that I lived long enough to get your letters. 

When Simon brought them, I thought that was the end. I had finally gotten used to you not being there, and then you stepped in again. I still hate you for that, and when I die, you're going to catch hell for it. 

I still look at those letters and marvel at you. When did you write them? Simon said something about the Thurman case, but I know that a lot of what you wrote happened after that. I'll never know, will I? Just another thing about you that will drive me *crazy*! 

The Reservoir was the worst, Jim. I lay down up there, freezing in a way I'd never had to experience before.... You used to hold me when we played that game, and I've never felt so warm. Like the Florida retirement I always dreamed we'd have. 

You left me. I want to forgive you for that, but I can't. And to make things worse, you forbid me to follow. I've spent the last six years following your life. My only thought on the reservoir was "Why can't I follow you now?" 

I'm sorry for the thoughts I had that night, Jim. I know you never wanted my life to end if yours did, but I just couldn't figure out how I was supposed to go on alone. Even with Simon telling me all those stories about you--how just being together with me had changed you so much, even with the love that I found in your letters.... I just couldn't figure it out. 

I couldn't figure *you* out. The shooting *was* my fault--I didn't get to you in time, and the zone-out was what killed you--and there you were, telling me not to feel guilty. 

I'm sorry, Jim. But how the hell else was I *supposed* to feel!? 

I still carry around that guilt. I know you probably look down at me and sigh over that, but I can never forget that it was my fault. I can never forget that I let you down. 

That's really why I didn't do anything at the reservoir, Jim. You know that, don't you? You made me feel like, if I died from that guilt, I'd be letting you down *again*. And I could never have faced you in the afterlife knowing that. 

So I've kept on going. Dean Milton gave me the rest of that spring semester on sabbatical, and the fall term just started a week ago. I feel a little lost now, just having the University. I remember just exactly how hectic life got after I got my tenure last year, when I was spending half my time at the station, and half at school. 

I kind of liked it. I especially liked the fact that you were always there to take care of me. I hate it that you're not here to take care of me now. 

God, I miss you. There are days when I walk into the loft, and I can almost smell you there. Those are the days I cry myself to sleep, Jim. I'm sure you can hear me, and it probably hurts you, and I want you to know that that fact doesn't bother me a bit. 

You left me. I lay there at night--*alone*--and though I can feel you watching me, I can't feel you *holding* me, and I know that I'll never feel secure again without you. 

I sold the couch--well, no, actually, I gave the couch away. Do you remember why? 

Do you remember that one stakeout, when we had spent the entire night outside that guy's house and turned up absolutely nothing? I was still kind of wired, and I had an eight a.m. class. You guaranteed me two hours of blissful sleep... And then you took me so tenderly that I almost couldn't breathe. 

I slept like a babe on that couch, curled into your chest while you kept watch. 

I can't keep it here anymore, so I gave it to a friend over at the college. 

I'm keeping the loft, though. For the longest time, I thought about selling it... But Simon said you wanted me to keep it, and I haven't refused you yet. Even dead, you've still got a problem with control, you know? 

I hate you. A lot. There are days when I don't think about you at all now, and that makes me hate you even more. *You* made that happen. You tried to ease me into the rest of my life, and now I'm starting to spend time thinking about that new life. 

What I want to think about is *you*. 

I want to think about the time when you took me out to your friend's boat house and we tooled up the coast to Canada. Do you remember how long we stayed in that bed together, Jim? Do you remember how many times we did it in those three days? 

I do. I remember all of it. I remember every time you looked at me, every time we kissed, every time you fucked me so hard that I damn near had to use a cane the next morning! 

I remember all of it. And you? You sit up there in heaven and watch me. And you probably feel good that I'm doing so well. 

Well, sometimes I do too. Sometimes, I look at my life, and look at the pictures of us that still sit around the loft, and I'm glad that we had those four years together. I'm even glad of the two I spent pining for you, because even then, you loved me--even if it wasn't the way I wanted you to. 

Like now. You still love me. I can feel it on those muggy summer days, when it's just as hot as I like it. I can feel it when I cuddle into the comforter in the middle of a rainstorm, and I can almost feel you there... 

You love me, but you can't love me the way I need you to. And as angry as I am--and as I'll probably stay--I'm glad for the love itself, at least. 

So, keep an eye out, okay? You're still my Blessed Protector, Love. I'm counting on you to keep watch over me. 

But don't make me wait too long, all right? And please, please help me remember you. I dream about you every night, and it still doesn't seem to be enough. 

I love you so much. 

I miss you. 

I'll see you again, 

Blair  
  


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